


Intentions

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, Couch Sex, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I believe I am in Hell, therefore I am."-- Arthur Rimbaud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> As a disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea why these two would bang in this timeframe, I just wanted to write PruHun that wasn't all about going behind Austria's back and stuff of that sort.
> 
> I also know it's canon that Prussia is terrible with women but I feel that he'd be a little _less_ terrible with Hungary since they grew up together and all that great fun.

She basically invites herself over, what else was he to do?

Prussia doesn't live in the main house with Russia and most of the others; he supposes it's punishment, to be so close to his brother, but knowing he's actually so, so far. He is left to his own devices more often than not, which usually include trying to scrape up enough money to get by, day by day, hardly ever week by week.

And then, one day, when he's back from a meeting with Russia (read: back from getting his ass _literally_ handed to him by Russia-- just a few bruises this time, though, and a split lip), there's Hungary, trotting outside with him and demanding his attention. He kind of wants to shove her into the snow slush, because he doesn't need her shit, _really_ doesn't need it right now.

But she follows him, so he figures he's going to be stuck with her.

She presses her arm up against his, and her gloved hand practically tickles at his. His gloves are threadbare and useless, but he sighs as he allows his hand to wrap around her smaller one. They're both silent as they grip at one another's bony hands as they make the trek in the wet slush over the streets as Prussia takes her home.

Oh, he should want to celebrate this, should want to hoist her over his shoulder like the prized wench he'd just captured (which she would snort at, probably smack his back while he did it), but he can't gather the strength to do anything but open the door for her into his dinky apartment. It's a real shithole, but if Hungary thinks so, she doesn't say anything.

They shed their coats there in the doorway, and stumble out of wet, sloshing boots. Prussia looks up for half a second, to ask why the hell she wants to be here, of all places, but then he feels her hands fisting in his shirt, yanking him down to her level as she smashes their lips together. It is not a sincere kiss, and Prussia really doesn't know why she's kissing him but, fuck, he wishes he could enjoy it as much as he probably should; he has not enjoyed much in a long time.

"I'm not married," she tells him (which she doesn't need to, because he knows, oh, he _knows_ ), holding him there before her with tight fists. He really doesn't want his shirt to rip in her iron grip, he thinks mutely, because he doesn't have the money to get another one, and the others he owns are stained and threadbare and not at all good meeting attire.

Prussia makes a face, and Hungary rolls her eyes. Her hand reaches to grab his chin roughly, looking him over closely, inspecting, more or less. Prussia wants to bat her away but, god, he can't even be bothered. He is so tired. She is tired, too-- he can see it in the smudges of sleeplessness under her very pretty eyes.

Even like this, trapped under Russia's violent thumb, Hungary is as stubborn as a weed. She refuses to be beat down.

"Your lip is bleeding," she comments quietly, and Prussia rolls his eyes as he trudges past her. His feet slap the hardwood floor tiredly, and he can't even be bothered to offer her something to eat or drink-- not that it matters, because he doesn't have much of anything to offer her these days. His fridge is as barren as this shitty apartment, with walls that are stained with age and god knows what else. It was the only place he could ever afford with his meager earnings.

"I had a meeting," he tells her in a sigh as he lets his head flop back. He wants to sleep for a million years. The people of the East are solemn and beat down and _lonely_. Prussia wishes he could have the fight and spit he usually does, but god, it is so tiring, running on empty like he has been.

Hungary picks a seat beside him. He feels her hand, now bare of gloves, trace up his extended neck, dusting over his jaw, sliding back into his hair. It's greasy from the snowfall earlier, but she cards through it like it's nothing at all-- and maybe it isn't. Her touch is nice, so he's not going to tell her to stop. He slings a deadweight arm around her.

"Gimme a sec," he requests, tracing his thumb over her shoulder. "It'll hit me in a sec that you're here."

Hungary laughs, this beautiful little noise that indeed wakes him a little. Here she is, her herself, waiting for him. His desire stirs as she slides her warm, small hand down his throat, plucking open the first button of his shirt. When he peeks at her, she looks at him quietly, whispering one simple, unapologetic, "Oops."

And there's something in her eyes, wanting and waiting and so impossibly green, that kicks Prussia into his game. She is here, she's offering what he wants-- what they _both_ want-- and fuck, she looks cute with that run in her pantyhose, Hungary is getting fucking _good_ at this whole girly thing.

He grips her by the upper back, but Hungary is already slinging her leg over his lap, uncaring that she's in a skirt that is currently riding dangerously high. He sighs with so much delight as he feels her sit over his lap, her hands sliding roughly up his chest as she kisses him again, deep and filthy and not at all becoming of a prior lady of the court. Hungary is her own self, wild and stubborn and wickedly good when she grinds her hips down, trying to stir him into arousal.

"What's this about?" Prussia asks between kisses that are sinfully good. Her mouth tastes sweeter than anything he could think of, and sure, if he weren't East Germany and in the worst condition he's ever been in-- a rock bottom contrast to his highest high a few decades ago-- he'd be way more ecstatic about Hungary more or let wanting to fuck him right here in his living room. But he's happy, he's feeling better than he has since he's taken his new title, so he figures he owes her a little. He rocks his hips up into her, feeling rewarded when she makes his high-pitched little sigh.

She pulls back to look down at him, slits of green wandering over Prussia's pale face, watching him watch her like she truly is the most interesting thing on this planet. She feels greedy enough to steal two more kisses before she pulls back again with a smile this time, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well," she whispers, smoothing his bangs back from his face, "Why the fuck not?" She asks, so unlady-like, and Prussia grins a little in turn. His hands yank her skirt up, so he's two handfuls of her perfect ass, and squeezes her there, which makes Hungary groan, tilting her hips down to grind against him. She moves in these controlled little movements, knowing little swirls of her hips that are far more skilled than Prussia's haphazard bucks up against her; he wants, very badly, but he has never taken, especially not from her.

Together they rock like that, the expert rolling of Hungary's hips making Prussia more and more riled up. His blood doesn't sing like it used to, but it whispers another tune, something like _mine, mine, mine_ , although he knows very well more than anything that Hungary is not his to take.

He groans when she makes a slow roll of her hips, torturing him with the feeling of her warmth, just a few centimeters of clothing away from him, and in seeing how tense Prussia looks just from her teasing, like this, Hungary laughs softly, pressing kisses along the sharp line of his slender jaw.

" _Please_ ," he whispers, his German broken and strained as he bucks up again, nearly knocking Hungary off her comfy throne of his trouser-covered cock. She laughs again, nodding as she kisses his throat while her fingers work on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"You will," she assures, and her kisses feel smoldering against his flesh. She slides her hands down his chest once she gets his shirt open, slowly tugging the tails of his out of his pants, which makes him groan again as they drag over his covered cock. She nudges his suspenders off of his shoulders, which he slides his arms out of in favor of wrapping them around her once again, hands holding her hips as she plucks open the button of his pants.

Prussia lifts his hips up a little, so she can tug his trousers down just enough to get his cock out. He makes a stuttering groan as she cradles in in her hand, sliding her palm over the shaft in slow strokes, watching his face as she slowly drives him mad. He cracks his eyes open to watch her predatory gaze, moaning with a little more need once he sees how devoted she is to making him writhe.

" _Hungary_ ," he's groaning, and she smiles at the sound of her name, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. She sucks his tongue into her mouth, tasting him and moaning softly, and Prussia thinks he might overheat with passion for her, something that he knows he's had in him since they were small and she proclaimed her breasts were actually muscle.

Speaking of, he wants to touch, so badly, but he doesn't want her to stop what she's doing. He wants to lay her down and touch her all over, memorize every single inch of her beauty with his lips and lay worship to someone that makes him feel so... like this. So foggy but yet so clear, so delighted. She brings to him the happiness he's missed here, alone, blocked off from one of the only few people he gives a shit about by a wall he couldn't dream of crossing.

But. He doesn't want to think about that now.

He frowns when he watches Hungary get up from his lap, but can't help the blush in his cheeks as he watches her strip off her skirt, her pantyhose, her _panties_ , which she waggles at him with a smile before dropping them atop her pile of clothing. While she's up, she works on getting her blouse off, and Prussia licks his lips at the sight of her bra, her pale self, nearly entirely spread before him.

"Get your slacks off," she tells him, and he imagines she's trying to be demanding probably, but her voice is breathless, eager. He does what she says, because she knows better about living room sex than he ever would, and sits there naked on his couch, save for his socks, watching Hungary peel off her bra, dropping it to the floor before she moves to take residence in his lap again.

His hands hover over her, unsure of where to touch first, if he's allowed to touch what he wants to. He flicks his gaze to her, to convey his loss of action, and Hungary smiles as she takes his hands in hers, stroking his knuckles gently. "You have rough hands," she comments quietly, and Prussia doesn't know why she'd care but-- _ah_.

She's cupping her breasts with his hands, and it feels much better than Prussia could even explain with words. He moans dumbly, feels himself blushing, and allows himself to indulge in the sin of watching her squeeze his hands, squeezing her tits in turn, which makes her sigh out this delicious little noise. He carefully strokes his thumbs over the warm, delicate skin of her breasts in each of his hands, watching her bite her lip with a lopsided little smile, watching him enjoy the feeling of her chest.

"They're not so muscular now," she laughs out quietly, and Prussia chokes out a laugh, stealing a kiss or several from her smiling lips. He gives her tits a little squeeze (they don't entirely fit into his hands but, he must be doing an okay job, because he feels Hungary moan in delight against his lips) watching her arch into his touch with delight. Her hips grind down as a sort of automatic response, and Prussia groans, long and low, feeling her slickness rub down against his cock.

Hungary must be as eager as he, because she takes one of his hands in hers again, guiding it away from her right breast (which he tries to protest, but she nearly breaks his finger so he lets her move his hand instead) and down between her legs. His eyes go impossibly wide as she presses his hand down to her dampness, feeling her slickness, and rolls her hips down, which makes them both moan, the air filled with heavy breathing and barely-mumbled words.

Prussia doesn't really know what she wants him to do, but he figures it out pretty quickly, especially when she's helping him like this, helping him to slide a finger inside her, which she rides on eagerly, until he adds a second, which has her rocking her hips enthusiastically, moaning when he gives his fingers a tiny (mostly accidental) wiggle inside of her, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit.

"Oh, _god_!" She gasps, and yup, that's _the_ _hottest_ thing Prussia has ever seen, absolutely, and he groans, trying hard to get the same reaction from he as he gives his fingers another little wiggle. Hungary gasps again, then again, and Prussia feels her wet pussy tightening, shuddering, as she grapples onto his shoulders and comes, whimpering out his name as she grinds her hips down with need, riding out the waves of her orgasm with the movement of Gilbert's fingers. He can't help but feel a little disappointed, fairly certain she's about to slouch off him, leave him to--

But there she is, thank the lord, catching her breath as she brings herself closer, finding his cock with her small hand. She brings his tip to rest as her damp folds, rubbing it up and down her slit with a shiver. Prussia tries hard not to sob in delight, but shit, he hasn't felt good in a long time, and certainly not like this. He's a little dizzy, thinking about what she's going to do next.

And then she's sliding down on him, encasing him inch by blissed inch into her tight pussy, moaning something about how thick he is and Prussia doesn't give a shit what she's moaning because she's seated on top of him, clenching herself around the intrusion of his cock, which makes him choke out a noise of delight. He can't fucking believe it-- he wishes he could have more to think or say, but the feeling is absolutely mind-blowing.

Her lips find his neck, and for awhile they just sit like that. Hungary pressing kisses and whispers of words to his throat and Prussia running his hands all over her warm skin, through her hair, down her body, feeling and memorizing and wishing, wishing, wishing time didn't have to move forward, because he doesn't want this to end, god, he really doesn't.

But then she moves and Prussia decides that, scratch that, he doesn't want _this_ to end. The way she feels when she raises herself up in his lap, before lowering herself, such strength there in her thighs as she moves atop him-- Prussia moans, sliding his hands up the curves of her sides, holding her by the waist as she lets her set the pace, since she so clearly knows what she's doing with him. Fuck, she's incredible.

He's grunting out curses and jerking his hips up to meet her when he's able, but she's so simply mind-blowing, sometimes he just sits there while she fucks herself down on him. He loves the sweet symphony of sex, especially when it's her, god, he loves--

_This_ , he tells himself, while she slams down into his lap, swirling her hips in sinful little gyrations that make him choke out, pulling her close, chest-to-chest. He's going to come, he's going to fucking lose it and he doesn't care, _fuck_ , he doesn't, because Hungary is so good at this and she's right here, with her sweet-smelling skin and her soft hair tickling his nose while he shoves his face into the curve of her neck, panting heatedly. She runs his fingers through his hair as she rides him, hard and fast, and Prussia gets the idea to slide his hand down, to play with the little bundle of nerves between her folds and that makes her wail, grinding impossibly harder.

Everything becomes a chorus of " _please_ " and " _god_ " and curses that Prussia has never even heard before, but Hungary's panting them into his hair and against his ear and when he feels her tighten around him, insides twitching as she is lost in orgasm, he chokes out a noise, slamming his hips up a few more times before he spills, comes, and finds himself lost in the bliss.

They rock together like that, slowing eventually, and Hungary rests her cheek to Prussia's scalp as he keeps his face tucked into the warmth of her neck, too stunned to kiss her there. His hands keep her close, and Hungary laughs a little, turning to kiss his head before she rests her cheek down against him once more.

"That was good," she sighs, satisfied, and Prussia laughs, because only Hungary could make such a thing sound so stupid. She knees him in the side, though, so he tries hard to stop snickering.

"You should be nice," she tells him haughtily. "I let you touch my boobs." As if that's the only thing she let him touch, but Prussia lifts his head to look at her, grinning as his hands sneak up to cup her breasts again, which makes her squeal as she tries to lean back, away from his grabby hands.

"I didn't get a good feel for 'em earlier-- let me feel!" He laughs, actually laughs, like he's happy and content and-- and Hungary grins as she cocks a brow at him.

"Does that mean you want another go, _Prussia_?"

Her German is a little off, the sounds being a little more in her mouth than in her throat, but damn, he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way she purrs his name, complete with that hungry little smile of hers.

Prussia feels himself blush a little, even if the blood is beginning to rush south at the implication she's tacked onto his silly statement, but he smirks a little, running his hands over her delicate skin (ignoring the litter of bruises that he knows the source of all too well; Hungary probably thanks him for this).

But then he's moving to throw her to the couch with a smile, kneeling between her spread legs and tracing his hands up her torso to grab her breasts, placing a line of kisses up the center of his chest and all the way up to her mouth, which Hungary seems to delight in, if the sucking of his tongue into her mouth be any evidence of her willingness.

He pulls back to look at her face, to memorize the haze in her eyes as she looks to him. However, he knows he's lost, hopelessly gone and abandoned ship, way before she pulls her arms around him and drags him into another kiss, hooking her leg around his back to pull him closer.

Her kisses taste even better when the fog leaves his head, if only for as long as his cock is sliding against her slick folds.

He takes her, again (and again and _again_ ), on his ratty couch in the middle of a shitty apartment that reflects just had badly his people are living. But for the moment, for now, it's just the two of them, and Prussia and Hungary. He doesn't care why she's here or why they're doing this, because it's distraction enough and, well, Prussia can't say it isn't something he's wanted before.

And when they lie there together, Prussia half atop her, feeling Hungary's fingers trace over the scars in his back and the bumps of his spine as he asks her what this is, Hungary laughs softly beneath him, turning to spare his cheekbone a chaste kiss.

"Hell," she tells him, fondly, and Prussia laughs, nodding.

**Author's Note:**

> The quote in the summary: I thought it fit the mindset of these two in the context of the era and whatnot. Shrug.


End file.
